


Beyond the Realm of Hungry Ghosts

by rabidtanuki



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon Divergence, F/M, Lyrium Withdrawal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidtanuki/pseuds/rabidtanuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I first wrote this as a one-off vignette about how Cullen and Samson come to terms with each other after Samson's capture. I was asked by a couple of kind individuals who read it to write more. I rarely write and even more rarely post my writing, so it meant a lot to me. It was originally titled "The Champions of the Just".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is in reference to "In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction" by Dr. Gabor Maté.  
> There is quite a bit of canon divergence because the Inquisitor is allied with the Templars yet Samson is there as a prisoner.  
> Cover art by me. For more Dragon Age fanart, visit http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen faces Samson in Skyhold’s dungeon after his capture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by me. Fore more Dragon Age fanart, visit http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com

 

* * *

Cullen pulled up his already straightened back as he descended the stone stairs to the dungeon. Shivering, he cursed the damp chill that had so swiftly enveloped him. He felt it vividly despite his fur shawl and even through the padded soles of his boots.

“Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter,” Cullen muttered the familiar words that, for a reason he refused to acknowledge, failed to provide the comfort they usually did.

He did not have to bring himself down here, Cullen very well knew. He could have easily told his men to bring the prisoner to his office. Donning iron cuffs and chains instead of red lyrium infused armor Samson was no threat to anyone well out of his spitting distance. Yet he wanted to face him in the dungeon where the iron bars could…do what? Cullen wasn’t sure.

Keep him focused on the task at hand, perhaps. Prevent him from killing the prisoner with his bare hands, more likely.

Help him feel safe, most definitely.

But Cullen was not going to admit to that. He couldn’t afford to.

The sight of a Sister in front of Samson’s cell caught Cullen by surprise. But what startled him more was the gentle curve at the edges of Samson’s mouth, which disappeared in a flash as soon as he spotted Cullen.

“Commander,” the Sister turned her gentle round face towards Cullen and nodded gracefully. “We’ll talk soon,” Sister promised Samson and touched the back of Samson’s hand briefly before she left. Cullen stared at Samson’s hand that was casually dangling past the rusty iron bars, but it quickly retreated back into the cell as he approached.  

“To what do I owe this honor, oh the revered Commander of the mighty Inquisition army?” Samson sneered. This was the Samson Cullen had come to expect, full of vile and hatred. _Odd how seeing Samson try and raise my hackles is far more reassuring than seeing him smile_ , Cullen thought.

_Ugly_. Samson was never a good-looking man, even before his downward spiral in Kirkwall, but Cullen had never thought of him as ugly until he saw him that day in Haven. It wasn’t so much his physical features but his spiteful attitude that made him _feel_ ugly to Cullen, though the deep, dark circles under his eyes and the receding hairline did nothing to add to the man’s charm.

What little humanity Cullen had glimpsed on the prisoner’s haggard face just a moment ago had completely disappeared behind a snarky grin and the burst blood vessels in his eyes, and Cullen couldn’t resist stopping far enough away from the cell so he didn’t have to see in vivid detail the damage that had been done to the former Templar that no herb or magic could alleviate.

_Not on red lyrium and he still glowed red_ , Cullen mused as he began to consider how best to answer Samson’s simple question.  

“She doesn’t come here to talk about the Maker to me, if you are wondering,” Samson offered, filling the heavy silence with his deep and slightly nasally voice that grated against Cullen’s nerves.

“Then why was she here?” Cullen asked then regretted it even before Samson answered.

“She comes here to keep my company,” Samson said and snorted upon seeing Cullen’s expression. “No, not _that_ kind of company,” Samson laughed rather heartily, the booming sound echoing eerily in the otherwise empty dungeon.

The Inquisitor never kept prisoners; she saw no point in doing so. Cullen had asked her about it once, and she had said justice was about redemption and recourse, not condemnation and confinement. He wasn’t sure if he agreed, but seeing how she handled the Thom Rainier situation, he could see how it could work. With people worth such compassion, that was.

With Samson, she let Cullen choose the course of action, and his instinct was to toss him into a cell. Behind bars, he could do no harm except with his tongue, and Cullen made sure no guard ever spoke to the prisoner. He wasn’t counting on a Sister taking an interest in speaking with him, however, though he had a suspicion it had been the Inquisitor who had asked the Sister herself.

“She checks up on me, making sure I am fed and as comfortable as one can expect to get in a dungeon cell. She tells me about the weather and the flowers she tends to in the garden, the funny jokes she’d overheard, silly things the Orlesian nobles do when they visit Skyhold,” Samson went on as if Cullen had demanded the details.

“Then she asks me about my life. My family, where I grew up, the friends and colleagues I used to have and the feelings I had for a girl once.” Samson looked up at Cullen and they held the gaze until Samson closed his eyes and said, “She treats me like I’m human, Cullen.”

Cullen flinched at the sound of his name on Samson’s tongue. He felt dread seep into his thoroughly chilled bones, for he was keenly aware what Samson’s calling him by his name implied. It wasn’t a challenge or a threat. There was no mockery, no resentment.

It was a plea. A hand extended through the iron bars, a nudge of a foot that begged to cross the chasm to the other side.

And in a way, that was far more dangerous than any threat he could have made.

“I’m taking you to my office. Try anything stupid and you’ll find your head rolling on the ground,” Cullen said flatly and unlocked the prison cell. He hoped Samson would see his hand shaking and think it was only because of the cold.

“Duly noted,” Samson nodded as he stepped out of the cell. Cullen stepped back to let Samson walk in front of him, but Samson paused in front of Cullen and turned. “Aren’t you going to cuff me?” Samson asked and raised his wrists up to Cullen.

“I didn’t bring any,” Cullen answered and nudged Samson’s shoulder to make him turn around. Samson offered no resistance and proceeded to the stairs. Cullen noticed for the first time how Samson was outfitted with a couple of layers of decent, thick shirts and a hooded overcoat to keep away the cold, and his knee-high boots were relatively new.

“Did the Sister give you the clothes?” Cullen asked, if only just to fill the awkward silence as they climbed the stairs.

“It was one of the guards who brought them to me. She said it was the Inquisitor’s order.” Samson then turned at the top of the stairs and looked Cullen straight in the eyes. “She has a good heart, that Inquisitor of yours. A strong and capable leader, too, from what I’ve heard. I can see why you would be taken with her.”  

Cullen raised a brow but did not question how he knew or why he should care at all. Instead, he squeezed past Samson up the last few steps and opened the door to the courtyard.

Breathing in the crisp air, Cullen realized he had been suffocating. Ignoring the slight ache in his lungs, he hurried across the busy courtyard. He almost didn’t care whether Samson was following or had taken the opportunity to run for his freedom.

Only when he reached the door to his office did Cullen glance back, and he allowed himself to be genuinely surprised by the sight of Samson only a couple of paces behind him, leaning casually against the stonewall of the ramparts.

“What, did you think I would try and escape?” Samson chuckled. “I know where I am, Commander. More people within these walls than in all of Thedas combined know my face _and_ wish to do far worse than just spit on it. The safest place for me right now is in your hands.”

Cullen pondered the truth of Samson’s last assumption as he opened the door and let Samson through. As soon as he closed the door behind them he felt the air begin to thin around him.

“Sit,” Cullen ordered Samson and walked around his desk to stand by the window, which was technically just a tall, narrow slit in the wall that allowed in light and air, both of which seemed to be sorely lacking this morning.

“On what? The floor?” Samson complained, pointing at the empty space in front of the desk. Cullen swore under his breath and dragged his chair across the floor to where Samson stood.

“Sit,” Cullen repeated firmly as if it was an attempt at training a dog. As it turned out, Samson was as obedient as a well-fed Mabari. He sat on the chair provided without word. Ignoring Samson’s expectant eyes, Cullen walked back to where he was earlier, thirsting for the wispy breeze coming through the window. “Dagna, our arcanist, wants to perform some…experiments on you,” Cullen turned his face to Samson and began, though he didn’t have the answers if Samson asked exactly what Dagna had on her mind.

“Right to business, I see,” Samson chuckled and slid down an inch in his chair, relaxing into it. “Experiments, you say. Sound ominous.”

“I don’t know what she plans to do,” Cullen admitted as he turned his face towards the window once more. The breeze was irritatingly weak and Cullen was feeling increasingly short of breath. “From what I know of her, the experiments would not be purposely painful or cruel, if unpredictable and potentially dangerous.”

“Would you care if they were? Painful and cruel?” Cullen snapped his neck to look at Samson, whose twitching jaw muscles belied his relaxed sitting posture.

_Here we are again_ , Cullen thought, though this time, the one kneeling before the seat of judgment was himself. _You have no right to judge me_ , Cullen yelled in his head but was unable to voice it, for he knew he would sound neither convincing nor _convinced_.  

“I’m _not_ a monster,” Cullen squeezed out through the memory of the sea of red Templars clouding his vision.

“I never said you were,” Samson replied, the gentleness in his voice startling Cullen’s eyes open, which he hadn’t realized had been clenched shut. The veins on the sides of his temple thrummed, threatening to bring on a bout of headache. Cullen shook his head and took in a deep breath but the throbbing worsened. “Has anyone told you to not be so hard on yourself?” Samson asked, half mocking, half _caring_.

_How dare you_ , Cullen screamed internally and clenched his fists. He felt his diligently built resolve crumbling piece by piece, _heard_ his carefully put together armor peeling off, layer by layer.

He felt naked in a way that was neither liberating nor arousing. He was exposed and vulnerable. _Known_.

“ _With passion’d breath does the darkness creep. It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep_ ,” Samson recanted the familiar verse. “I’ve always thought they are about doubt, not demons, or anything else the Chantry would tell you they are about. Self-doubt, and you’ve got yourself loads of it. You always have.” Samson’s words rang loudly in Cullen’s throbbing head, making it impossible for him to form cohesive thoughts—or thoughts of any kind.

“Leave,” Cullen waved one hand at Samson while raising the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. He tried to will the pain away in vain and groaned.

_Why now_? Cullen wondered through the excruciating burn on his forehead that made it feel as if someone was crushing his skull with great force. He hadn’t had an episode this bad in weeks and had thought he was in the clear.

Evidently, he was wrong.

“I’m not going anywhere without you chaperoning me,” Samson reminded Cullen.

“Ah!” Cullen cried out and doubled over his desk when a scorching arrow pierced through his temple. Black and silver stars flew in every which direction, and he panted so hard he nearly heaved. He honestly thought he was hearing his head explode when Samson slammed the door open.

_Maker, that was loud_ , Cullen thought as his hands lost their grip on his desk.

“Get a healer, and tell the Inquisitor her Commander is in a real bad way,” Cullen heard Samson yell then fell to his knees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen x Trevelyan fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by me. For more Dragon Age fanart, visit http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com/

 

 

 

* * *

_This isn’t my bed_ was Cullen’s first cohesive thought upon waking. He felt warm—too warm almost—weighed down by a luxurious duvet that he didn’t keep in his quarters because he preferred to feel unburdened during his sleep, and his head half buried in a soft feather pillow he didn’t like using because it did things to his stubborn curly hair he couldn’t undo.

There was also no hole in the ceiling, though his blurred vision couldn’t make out what this ceiling was made of. Then there were people sitting around the bed, staring. He never had anyone visit him during his sleep. Well, except for one Aveline Trevelyan.

 _Aveline_.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen blurted out and was immediately retrained by two gentle yet insistent hands on his shoulders when he tried to sit up.

“Easy, Cullen. Easy,” the Inquisitor whispered in her most sultry voice he had ever heard. The soft, warm purple of her iris caught Cullen’s attention as did the luscious lips bowed down slightly at the corners in concern.

 _This isn’t fair_ , Cullen whined in his head as he felt the heat on his cheeks and the way his arousal strained against the thick duvet.

“I believe he is out of the woods, seeing he is alert and color has returned to his face. Send for me if you need anything at all, darling,” Vivienne spoke softly and placed a gentle squeeze on the Inquisitor’s shoulder once before sashaying away. A healer followed Vivienne out after giving both the Inquisitor and Cullen a nod.

Now he was alone in the Inquisitor’s quarters with the Inquisitor herself. A rare luxury, though he regretted the circumstances that had brought him here this time.

“Samson,” Cullen gasped and tried to sit up, and again was pushed back down by the Inquisitor’s strong hands. Times like these Cullen didn’t have to see it for himself to believe that she could wield a Greatsword and swing it around like it weighed nothing.

“I’ve asked Josephine to give him a room above the gardens,” the Inquisitor explained. “Two guards with him at all times, and one of Leliana’s just in case,” she added when Cullen frowned. “He called for help for you, instead of taking advantage of the situation. That had to be taken into account.”

She always knew what was on Cullen’s mind, even when he only had a vague idea himself.

 _Maker, I love this woman_.

“And from what I heard, he was genuinely concerned that he might have been the cause of your falling ill.”

“Ha,” Cullen snorted. “He certainly _is_ a headache. I’m surprised he even cared.” The Inquisitor regarded Cullen with a peculiar expression at his comment, but Cullen was no mind reader. Cullen tried anyway while he debated how to address the lovely woman in front of him. When he failed to read her face, Cullen decided on “Aveline?”

“You once thought of him a ‘decent man’,” she gently reminded Cullen. Cullen swallowed a lump that somehow had formed instantly in his throat. “Do you ever think that there might be a chance a part of him is still that same decent man you knew years ago?”

Cullen closed his eyes and thought on that while she gently caressed his hair and face. He had no idea how her hand could remain so soft, free of hard callouses and blisters. Maybe that was the reason why she visited Vivienne so frequently: for her exotic scented creams.

“I saw him smiling when he was speaking with a Sister,” Cullen said, not knowing he could trust himself to answer the Inquisitor’s question honestly. “Samson said she treated him like a person, asked him about his life.” She continued caressing Cullen’s face, and he was beginning to feel distracted by the intimate touch. “He also said I was too hard on myself, that I had too much self-doubt.” When her fingers brushed against his lips, Cullen whimpered. “Aveline.”

“We are taking today off,” she declared then placed a kiss on his brow. With those few words and the simple gesture, she managed to unwind Cullen completely, which was a task accomplished by no one, including himself.

“Best news I’ve heard all week,” Cullen sighed and lifted the duvet to let Aveline in. She slid under the duvet with the grace of a lioness in a hunt. Cullen wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her closer.

 _Maker, how is she so soft everywhere_? Bemused, Cullen drew a deep breath in, filling his lungs with the scent of the woman who always knew how to make him feel whole and worthy, as though he actually deserved this much happiness.

 _Samson was right about me doubting myself_ , Cullen thought, but not too bitterly. Although Aveline did not say anything about what Samson had said to him, Cullen was certain Aveline had her thoughts on the matter. She just wasn't the kind of person who would try and sort these kinds of complicated, intangible matters with words alone. She never rushed Cullen to a quick solution when it came to his problems, and Maker knew he had thrown at her the worst of his problems: the lyrium withdrawal, the nightmares, and his obsession with work. Cullen honestly couldn't think of one reason why she had chosen to stay by his side through it all.  

“Stop thinking,” Aveline whispered into Cullen’s ear then nibbled on his earlobe.

“You are going to help with that, I hope,” Cullen whispered as heat began to rise again on his cheeks.

“As if it isn’t already working,” Aveline chuckled softly, her breath tickling his ear and sending warm tingling sensation down Cullen’s spine.

“You might have to test the accuracy of your assessment, Inquisitor,” Cullen said in an official tone.

“Understood, Commander,” Aveline replied sternly as her hand slid down Cullen’s bare stomach into his smallclothes. Cullen groaned at the realization that he had been stripped down to his smalls and at the sensation of Aveline’s soft fingers teasingly gliding down the length of his arousal. “Will you be requiring a full report on my findings, Commander?” Cullen heard the smile in her voice and couldn’t help but smile himself.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Cullen replied then rolled on top of Aveline. “I’ll take it from here.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Samson are summoned by the Inquisitor after a scuffle with some Templars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major canon divergence (the Inquisitor had recruited the Templars).  
> Some blood and gore.  
> Cover art by me. For more Dragon Age fanart, visit http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com/

 

 

 

* * *

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s all your fault,” Cullen said and cleared his throat as he braced to knock on the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters. As he raised his tightly clenched fist, he noticed that the skin on his knuckles was peeled off in places and blood was beginning to crust around the wounds. Cullen cursed under his breath.

“All my fault, my ass,” Samson laughed and patted Cullen on the back. “Don’t worry, I got your back.”

 _And he always did, didn’t he_? When Cullen was first transferred to Kirkwall, it was Samson who took him under his wings so some of the older Templars didn’t try and rough him up to test his mettle as they often liked to do to new recruits. Not that Cullen couldn’t have defended himself, but being an outsider, he couldn’t afford to burn all bridges at once.

When Samson was kicked out of the Circle, Cullen smuggled some lyrium for him from time to time, if just for an old time’s sake. When the Kirkwall Circle nearly found out why Cullen visited Lowtown on a regular basis, Samson hid away from the prying eyes for as long as he could—until the withdrawal nearly killed him, in fact—just to clear the suspicions cast on Cullen. Cullen felt guilty still to this day that he hadn’t been more vigilant about not being followed. But instead of blaming Cullen, Samson apologized that he had to take the risk in the first place.

Samson was a decent man. More than decent, in many ways. Cullen owed him more than to ever have forgotten that fact.

“How are we going to explain the casualties?” Cullen said, though it was more a rhetorical question than anything. There was no way he could justify the force with which he “disciplined” the Templars who jumped Samson in the courtyard.

“Andraste’s tits, Cullen, relax. Nobody died. Only a couple of men with bruised egos and maybe a broken nose. They’ll live, and so will we.” Samson smirked and knocked on the door before Cullen could object.

“Come in,” Cullen heard Aveline’s silky voice answer. Samson opened the door and casually walked up the stairs as if he owned the place. Cullen sighed then followed, still not knowing what to say to Aveline. He himself didn’t know why he lost control of himself.

It was an instinct, Cullen figured, to strike back. But he did clearly hear the boys yell _at_ Samson—by name, even—then reach _for_ Samson. The blows were not meant for Cullen. He knew that. But he felt attacked, and he reacted accordingly. Still, he had no reason to punch that poor lad’s face after he was already on the ground and bleeding all over his contorted face.

“Please, have a seat,” Cullen heard Aveline say to Samson. When Cullen climbed the last of the steps, Samson was already sitting comfortably on the sofa by Aveline’s bed. “Leliana’s agent told me what happened,” Aveline said as she nodded to Cullen. Cullen tried his best to hide his knuckles from her eyes as he sat next to Samson.

“Inquisitor, I’m so…” Cullen began, but Aveline raised her hand.

“No. _I_ am sorry,” Aveline said firmly. Cullen saw from the corner of his eye one of Samson’s thin eyebrows lift. “The Templars are my personal responsibility. I will deal with them myself.” Aveline waved her hand as if that matter was already sorted out then sat on the edge of her bed across from the sofa. “Then there’s the matter of you, Samson.”

Cullen felt nervous all of a sudden. It wasn’t his fate the Inquisitor held in her hands. Yet, for some reason….

“Back to the dungeon, I take it?” Samson chuckled softly. Cullen felt his body stiffen.

“That is not an option,” Aveline said flatly. “I’m declaring you a Ward of the Inquisition.” Aveline let that sink in for a moment before continuing. “You are no longer our prisoner, and you will be under my protection. You will keep your two guards and Leliana’s agent for the time being until the matters with the Templars are settled, but you are free to walk the grounds of Skyhold without supervision. Your contribution to the Inquisition through your work with Dagna has earned you this, and I will not allow anyone to disagree.”

Times like these, Cullen wondered if the Inquisition would have been better off having Aveline as the Commander instead of him. But then again, he couldn’t think of anyone else whom he would rather see lead the Inquisition.

There was no doubt in Cullen's mind that Aveline had been planning this for longer than since the day Samson was moved out of the prison cell. He was quite sure the other advisers had objected to her idea, and he couldn't say if he would have agreed. _If_ he had been asked, that was. 

_But why didn't she ask him?_ It was unlike Aveline to exclude Cullen from a major decision like this. She had the final say in most matters, but she preferred to listen and consider arguments from all advisers. If Cullen had objected, she would have simply convinced him with logic and reason like she always did. Like when she told him she was going to train in Templar abilities. Cullen shook his head, trying not to remind himself of the arguments they had over the sensitive issue.

 _Did she think he would be biased?_ That was a possibility, but she still would have asked for his opinion. She just would have pointed out that he might not be completely objective when it came to Samson. And she would have been right. 

“I appreciate that, Inquisitor. I really do.” Cullen looked at Samson, stunned a little by the raw emotion in his voice. Aveline stood up and offered Samson a hand. Samson stood up, ignored the extended hand, and pulled her into his arms. “Thank you,” Samson whispered and Cullen could hear in those two simple words an infinite amount of relief and gratitude that strangely mirrored his own.

 _Well, it no longer matters anyway_ , Cullen thought. Once Aveline made a decision, it was final. Not because she was stubborn—which she could be sometimes—but because she did everything with the conviction of someone who was genuinely faithful and true.

Aveline looked at Cullen with a shy smile then gave Samson a couple of soft pats on his back. “Forgive me,” Samson chuckled sheepishly as he finally let go of Aveline.

“If you two will excuse me, I have to go and have a little chat with Delrin,” Aveline said, giving a light squeeze on Cullen’s arm and glancing at his bruised hand. “Cullen?” Aveline said with a knowing smile.

“Healer, yes. I will seek one out,” Cullen sighed.

“She really has got you under her thumb, doesn’t she?” Samson laughed and patted Cullen's back just as Aveline walked out of her quarters. 

Cullen shook his head in defeat, and then smiled when he realized that the sound of Samson’s voice no longer ruffled his feathers.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was asked by someone who read the previous chapters to expand on how Cullen and Samson deal with their addiction and withdrawal, so here it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addiction and withdrawal content warning.   
> Cover art by me. For more Dragon Age visit http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com

 

* * *

 

“She sure smells good, doesn’t she?” Samson chuckled softly as they made their way across the courtyard to his room above the gardens.

Cullen snapped his head back at Samson, ready to express his displeasure at the remark. “You should come with me to the infirmary,” Cullen offered instead upon seeing Samson’s clammy grey face.

“I’m fine,” Samson hissed through clenched teeth. “I don’t know how you do it, Cullen,” Samson groaned as his eyes quickly lost focus and glazed over. Samson shut his eyes and ground his teeth, clenching and un-clenching his fists.

It wasn’t bad hygiene or an injury to the mouth that had caused Samson’s horrifically misaligned and chipped teeth. Samson ground his teeth when he was under stress—especially loudly while sleeping, unfortunately—and the noise used to keep Cullen awake at night back when they shared a bunk in Kirkwall.  

“How do I do _what_?” Cullen asked as he pressed a small ball of herbs against Samson’s quivering lips. Samson received it without question. “Chew,” Cullen told Samson.

“Thanks,” Samson sighed after chewing on the herbs for a minute. “Get me some of these when you go see the healer?”

“I will,” Cullen nodded, though Samson’s eyes were still closed. “How do I do what, Raleigh?” Cullen asked again. Only when Samson blinked open his eyes with his mouth slightly ajar did Cullen realize he had addressed Samson by his given name.

Samson didn’t tease Cullen about that, however. “Be with her without giving in,” Samson shrugged then spat out the herbs onto the grass.

It was clear what Samson was referring to. Cullen had given it some thought before because it puzzled him, too, but to this day, he had no clear answer to how he managed. Cullen could smell the alluring scent of lyrium on Aveline whenever he was near and tasted it on her tongue and her skin when they made love.

Aveline never coddled Cullen. She wouldn’t keep her vials locked away or hidden from his sight, and would even take them in front of him in the morning when he had stayed in her quarters overnight. She wouldn’t make a show of it, of course, but she didn’t act like she was walking on eggshells around Cullen, either. She emptied lyrium vials the same way she undressed and made love: without fear, shame, or guilt.

It would be a lie if he’d said that he didn’t feel the scorching hunger assault him every time he saw her take lyrium. But not once his thoughts lingered on it long enough for him to consider reaching for that vial, ever since he made the promise to Aveline. To endure. To persevere.

But Cullen wanted to give Samson a better answer than _I just do_. So he pondered the question some more as he saw color gradually return to Samson’s face. Samson watched Cullen’s face with such keen interest it was almost as though he was clinging to Cullen with his eyes. Clawing. _Begging_.

“She expects better of me,” Cullen finally said. “She’s never explicitly said so, but it shows in the way she acts around me and the way she treats me. It keeps my urges in check. It… _she_ gives me strength.” He was quite sure it was still as clear as mud, but that was the best he could offer at the moment. Perhaps in time he would find the right words, because Maker knew he needed the answer as much as Samson did.

He also regretted that it sounded so cliché, but it was the only way he could put it. Without Aveline, he could not have cut himself off from lyrium. At the heart of it, truth was simple.

“Faith, huh?” A gentle smile crept onto the corners of Samson’s mouth, but it only conveyed melancholy and disappointment more than anything. Cullen’s heart fluttered at the unexpectedly strong sympathy he felt for the former Templar. “You are one lucky bastard. You know that, Cullen?” Cullen staggered a little when Samson punched him in the arm a little too hard.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Cullen managed as they resumed their walk back to Samson’s room. “I don’t want to have to worry about you throwing unsavory glances her way. You are headache enough as is.” The joke sounded hollow even to his ears, but it was better than a baseless reassurance, which was the only thing he had left to offer.

And however thoughtful or eloquently put, words just weren’t good enough to fill the void Samson carried within. Cullen knew this all too well.

“I wouldn’t even dream of it,” Samson laughed and patted Cullen’s back. “You’ve got enough on your plate as is. What did she call him? ‘Delrin’? I’d bet ten sovereigns you are worried sick about what they are up to while discussing ‘the matters of the Templars’.”

“What do _you_ know? _How_?” Cullen raised his voice, and raised his brows even higher.  

“Oh, I have heard all about how the newly titled Knight-Commander would like to kneel before the Inquisitor in a much more personal and intimate way than at the induction ceremony. And to answer the second question, I have sources,” Samson grinned wickedly.

Cullen hated when Samson did that, but at least there was no malice or mockery directed at him to go with the grin. “Well, _a_ source. Sister can be quite gossipy when the mood strikes her. I’ve heard some truly unappetizing things about you, too, my friend,” Samson chuckled. “Something about your office desk being sturdy and the doors unlocked, for example.”

 _Well, there_ was _mockery in that grin after all_ , Cullen grumbled and shook his head, but he couldn’t deny that he felt weary about the Knight-Commander being anywhere near Aveline for any extended amount of time, like right now. And most likely alone, so they could have a private discussion. _Alone, in private_. The thought nauseated him and he cursed under his breath for having given Samson the last of his herbs. “I trust her,” Cullen reminded himself as they reached the door to Samson’s room.

“Wouldn’t stop him from trying,” Samson said nonchalantly as he nodded greeting at the two guards standing nearby. “Catch you later, Commander Rutherford,” Samson winked and closed the door behind him.

Cullen turned on his heel and hurried back the way he came. He trusted her, of course. Samson was simply trying to pull his leg, and Cullen had no reason to believe Barris would do anything stupid. But his heart pounded harder than the pace of his brisk walk warranted and he had no control over the direction in which his legs carried him.

By the time Cullen reached the Knight-Commander’s temporary office, Cullen had conjured up and rejected a million excuses why he was there. As he knocked on the door and heard Barris answer, he decided he might as well go with the truth.

 _He was concerned_.

Cullen prayed to the Maker Aveline wouldn’t ask just _what_ had him so concerned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's inner jealous adolescent rears its head. Or shall I say, the Lion of Ferelden is territorial?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More canon divergence.   
> Cover art by me. For more Dragon Age fanart, visit http://rabidtanuki.tumblr.com

* * *

 

Barris regarded Cullen wearily as he entered the Knight-Commander’s makeshift office. Though it hadn’t been long since Barris had moved in here, there was no clutter to be seen anywhere. It was meant to be a temporary office anyway, as Aveline had a plan to move the new Templar Order’s headquarters out of Skyhold as soon as proper arrangements were made.

Or course, Cullen never mentioned to Aveline that he couldn’t wait for the Templars to move out of Skyhold, and Barris especially; that would have been childish.

Barris returned his gaze to the Inquisitor and spoke in hushed tones. _He must resent that Aveline invited me in despite his objection_ , Cullen thought while suppressing the satisfied smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Cullen crossed his arms and leaned against a wall by the door then listened in.

“Inquisitor, I understand your sentiment, but this is a lot for you to ask of us. That man you are trying to protect is an enemy of our Order. Surely you haven’t forgotten the atrocity to which he’d subjected our brothers and sisters.”

Cullen flinched at the way Barris said “our” Order and “our” brothers and sisters, simultaneously including Aveline while excluding Cullen. Or maybe he was just hearing things that weren’t there.

“Firstly, I’m here as Aveline as much as the Inquisitor. I’m asking this of you as a friend, Delrin,” Aveline began softly, though there was that firmness in her voice Cullen always loved hearing. “Secondly, it isn’t ‘a sentiment’, as you put it. It is a valid concern we have about the safety of what I now consider an Inquisition asset. You are aware I have declared Samson Ward of the Inquisition.”

Barris opened his mouth to interject, but he closed it the moment Aveline shot him a stern glance. Cullen nearly cheered.

“Lastly, I have not forgotten what Samson had done to the Templars and the Order. But by the same token, I have not forgotten how _you_ and _your_ Templars utterly failed to prevent the Order from falling apart the way it did, either.”

Cullen noted how sharply Barris’ spine straightened at this accusation. “Need I remind you that it was _I_ who reinstated the Order, out of my _sentiment_ for it because of my family tradition and ties? You might recall it was _I_ who offered the newly reinstated Order independent alliance with the Inquisition because I saw you deserved another chance despite your failings.”

Barris blew out his breath as if he’d just been shoved against a wall with great force. _I’d give him credit for managing to remain on his feet, at least_ , Cullen mused.

“Need I continue, Knight-Commander?” Aveline addressed her friend by the title she had granted him, and Barris seemed pierced right through the chest by what she implied.

 _I put you in that position, from which you are to be making this very decision_ , Aveline was saying. _You dare not say no to me_ , in other words.

Barris stood visibly shaken, unable to defend himself or _his_ Order, yet hesitating to grant Samson that second chance he was afforded. Barris shot a nervous glance at Cullen.

O _h, Maker, don’t do it, Barris_. _Not now, not to her_.  

“But what of the…relation between Samson and the Commander?”

 _Maker’s breath, you are an idiot_ , Cullen sighed.

“We have a precedent where a prisoner had personal ties to one of our inner circles,” Aveline replied calmly. “Magister Alexius, for example. He has been awarded the same latitude as any mage within our walls, free to study magic under supervision. Dorian visits him on occasion, and there hasn’t been any issue.”

“That is an excellent point,” Barris managed, quickly realizing his error.

 _Lucky_ , Cullen thought, thinking a hundred worse ways this could have gone down.

“We don’t have people who hold deep grudges against Alexius, as we prevented his plan from taking its course. But as you pointed out, we _do_ have an Order full of Templars who have personal feelings against Samson. I am simply asking you to reign them in.” Aveline’s voice remained calm, though as far as Cullen was concerned, she might as well have said, “I’m telling you to do your job”.

Barris nodded gravely, finally coming to the realization this battle was never to be won. Not by him, anyway, not by a long shot. “I will make sure nothing untoward happens to Samson at the hands of the Templars under my command,” he confirmed.

“Thank you, Delrin,” Aveline smiled, and the genuine warmth of it seemed to have melted Barris out of his icy tomb. Barris smiled back as Aveline approached him and gave a peck on his cheek. Cullen saw Barris lean into it with his eyes closed, a silent prayer upon his lips as Aveline lightly caressed the other cheek.

 _So there it is_ , Cullen thought with a pang of ugly emotions burning in the pit of his stomach. To be fair, Aveline did it to everyone whom she considered a close friend: Cassandra, Vivienne, Josephine, and even Dorian. But it was clear as day that Barris wanted to be more than her friend. Much more. It was written all over his blushing cheeks, the easy smile, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Cullen had always suspected Barris had feelings for Aveline. And who wouldn’t? She was the beacon of light that burned away the darkness, the hammer that shattered the wicked, and the shield that protected the helpless. Just looking into her beautiful eyes could reduce Cullen into a heap of slobbering mess in seconds.

But Cullen knew Aveline was oblivious to Barris’ feelings. She wasn’t the kind to leverage someone’s feelings for her to get what she wanted. And she didn’t need to; she was perhaps the most persuasive person in the Inquisition aside from Josephine.

But the fact that Aveline was unaware of how Barris felt about her didn’t mean she didn’t feel the same way.

_Well, did she?_

Cullen was unable to ask the question the whole way back to the Inquisitor’s quarters, which he hadn’t realized he’d followed her to until she pulled him into her arms and onto her bed.

Then the question no longer mattered—not at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aveline vs. Hivernal. My first (poor) attempt at a combat scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screen shot of Hivernal taken from Dragon Age Wiki.  
> Emprise du Lion = grip of the lion

 

 

 

* * *

Some places were difficult to describe, not because they lacked distinct features or characteristics, but because the way they felt were so far removed from how they looked. Emprise du Lion was one such place, Aveline thought as she steered her Nuggalope onto the bridge that the Inquisition had just finished rebuilding.

The restored bridge at the Judicael’s Crossing stretched triumphantly over the gaping chasm below, its length dotted on both sides by masterfully replicated statues much like the ones she’d seen in Val Royeaux. Aveline wondered just how much gold was spent on the sculptors and raw material so the bridge could be returned to its former glory. She doubted it was Cullen who had allowed such extravagance, but she could not quite bring herself to begrudge the expense.

Emprise du Lion was beautiful. She loved the landscape of contrasting features: the pure white of the snow against the dark rocks beneath, the blue ice covering the lake (and the titsicles) against the grey sky above, and the ancient elven ruins against the newer human settlements. Even the dark glow of the red lyrium against the sparkling snow looked enticing from afar. But the place also felt so _wrong_ : the town’s Mistress had sold off the villagers to the red Templars, a demon had taken up residence in Suledin Keep, and the red lyrium was growing _everywhere_.

Aveline wasn’t sure if red lyrium actually _grew_ like living things did. The grotesque red crystals seemed to jot out of the earth and spread freely as if nothing impeded their growth, as if they fed on nothing except pure hatred. She felt for Vivienne who constantly complained of how being near the outcroppings affected her. At least they were headed in a direction with much fewer reported red lyrium sightings.

Except they were now off to cull high dragons. Three of them. Likely breeding, too, she had been warned.

Aveline sucked in the frigid air and held it in, which did nothing to help still her racing heart. She regretted not bringing Bull, who would have overshadowed her trepidations with his enthusiasm and excitement that bordered perhaps a little too much on the sexual side. He would also disagree with Aveline that there was such a thing as “too much” when it came to sex. She let out a puff of white air and a stifled nervous laugh as she turned her head to the sound of a high dragon’s screech in the distance. Immediately the other dragons roared in reply, filling the air with echoes of their claim on the land and the sky above, establishing dominance.

Aveline and her companions were the intruders here, without a doubt. Those magnificent creatures had done nothing to warrant being hunted down other than “scaring the local population”. But the Inquisition (and the Inquisitor in particular) was often called to do just what would garner the organization more influence, and Aveline had to personally prove her strength so she could be seen as its worthy leader. Aveline just wasn’t sure if she was capable of defeating three high dragons in a harsh environment like this; it was just so damnably cold, and the ground beneath was a solid sheet of slick obsidian ice, making their footing insecure.

Aveline turned her head to look at her companions whom she affectionately called “the army of the faithful”. Cassandra gave Aveline a reassuring nod, Vivienne indulged her with a little smile, and Varric winked. Seeing her companions’ heartening reactions, Aveline wondered whether she looked that scared, or they simply trusted her that much. She felt the lion’s grip tighten around her heart and wished it had been Cullen’s embrace instead.

They called her Hivernal. Aveline admired the massive beast from the edge of the ring while others cautiously fanned out to either side of her.

“She must be quite a sight up close,” Aveline whispered to Vivienne.

“Oh, I can hardly wait to find out,” Vivienne shot back as she twirled her staff.

“Ready?” Aveline looked at Cassandra, who nodded confirmation. Aveline didn’t have to check with Varric to know that he was ready; he and Bianca were always up for a good fight, and this was promising to be one. Aveline desperately hoped they could survive it. “Maker watch over us,” Aveline whispered and gave Vivienne her signal. With an elegant sweep of a hand the ground lit up with her magic, causing the already agitated high dragon to sound a short but plenty loud warning and leap towards them.

At once, Cassandra roared back and charged, Vivienne’s figure blurred, and Varric rolled to dodge the cone of freezing mist that came his way. Aveline took a position just behind the front legs and marveled at the thickness of the underbelly. Hivernal had yet to lay her eggs.

Aveline could not afford to feel guilty or sorry; there was no way to call truce and retreat. There was going to be only one victor, and she couldn’t let that be the dragon. She whirled as she lifted her Greatsword. With the first spin she managed to clip a few scales and tear them off the side of the belly. The second spin had the tip of the wide blade dig into the soft flesh below. She’d expected to see blood with the third contact. She didn’t.

“Watch it!” Varric yelled as the dragon reared up. Aveline jumped back and saw Cassandra do the same. The ground shuddered as the dragon came down and somehow flash-froze the ground underneath her front legs. “Now, _that_ ’s a neat trick,” Aveline heard Varric chuckle nervously. Her pulse thrummed noisily in her temple and she almost didn’t hear Cassandra’s warning. Aveline felt the comforting buzz of magic envelope her a split second before the dragon began to flap her wings, dragging everyone (except Varric, who managed to hide behind a pillar) into the vortex of frigid wind that would have ripped them to shreds if it weren’t for the magic barrier.

Aveline heard Vivienne issue a challenge at the dragon as she summoned her spirit blade. It was decidedly a risky move, staying in the melee range. But Aveline trusted Vivienne to keep her barrier up (at least on herself) and her spirit blade was much stronger than the half-hearted fire spells she had been throwing at the wintry one. And Aveline had finally managed to cut into the front leg, which had much thinner protective layer of fat than the belly did.

It was a lengthy fight. The dragon would kick, swipe, spit a ball of ice, stomp, and even take off into the sky and spit some more ice at them from above. Aveline’s arms could barely keep her blade up any longer and she tasted metal in her mouth from breathing in so much dry, cold air. The ground was slick with the blood of the dragon and some of her own. She wasn’t sure where she was bleeding from; everything in her body ached, screaming for respite and rest.

And it happened when Aveline lost concentration. The dragon’s desperate, deafening screech hit Aveline with a dizzying force, and she took her eyes off the dragon for a split second to shake off the earache. She shouldn’t have.

“Aveline!” Cassandra shouted a warning but it was too late. Aveline heard a _whoosh_ of a thick whip being thrown. She didn’t hear the crack; she only felt the impact. The world tilted sideways and her vision blackened in a flash.

Then nothing.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen wakes up to face one of his worst nightmares.
> 
> Hurt/comfort...sort of.

Some nights were easier to get through than others, and this was one of them. Sleep was merciful, free of nightmares that would force Cullen to relive the experience from years ago, often distorted in such a way as to amplify the horror and desperation he’d felt then.

Something tore him away from the blissful slumber well before dawn. He sat up and held his breath, listening for whatever had stirred the chilled air.

_Horse hooves_. Just one horse, but at full gallop, fast approaching the main gate. Then the urgent blare of a war horn cleared away what little haze that lingered in his head.

_Cassandra_.

Cullen jumped off his bed and quickly put on his tunic, trousers, and boots. He halted just as he reached for his coat and sword.

“Wake the healers!” Cassandra shouted as the main gate opened.

Cullen felt blood drain from his entire body. There was only one person for whom Cassandra would ride through the night and alert the entire Skyhold—with a war horn, no less.

_What happened_? _How badly is she injured_? _Aren’t there healers at Suledin Keep_? _Forget the healers, wasn’t Vivienne with her_?

A dozen more questions whirled in Cullen’s head as he slid down the ladder to his office below. He nearly slammed bodily against the door before he remembered that it opened _inward_. Cassandra was still on her mount ordering the guards on night duty to ready the infirmary for the arrival of the Inquisitor. Cullen rushed down the steps and across the courtyard to Cassandra, heart in his throat. Cassandra’s eyes softened as she saw Cullen, but what Cullen wanted— _needed_ —was an explanation, not sympathy.

“How bad?” Cullen asked and felt his chest tighten. “Where is she?” He nearly yelled.

“I rode ahead for the last couple of miles,” Cassandra answered the easier question first as she dismounted. Her movement was uncharacteristically stiff. Cullen wondered for how long she had been riding without rest. “Vivienne is riding with her and should arrive shortly,” she assured him. Cassandra’s eyes darted around the courtyard, following the frantic movements of the guards and healers with uniformly tense expression. Cullen resisted the urge to grab Cassandra by the shoulders and shake the most crucial information out of her. Instead, he nodded understanding.

Once the warm glow of the fireplace in the infirmary grew large enough to be seen from where they stood, Cassandra turned to Cullen. “She was hit in the head when we were fighting one of the high dragon brood mothers. Vivienne managed to seal the wound and the healers at Suledin Keep treated her after, but they said the weather and red lyrium seemed to be affecting her. So we decided to return here, but her condition worsened on the way.”

“How bad?” Cullen repeated. _Hit in the head with what_? _With how much force_? _Worsened from what to what_? It took all of Cullen’s resolve to not blurt out all the questions that bubbled up inside him.

“The wound appears healed, at least on the surface,” Cassandra frowned and rubbed her gloved hands together, still avoiding the grievous details. “She was awake the last time I checked, but not entirely alert or cohesive. We had to stop a few times to let her get off the horse and heave.”

Giving up on his questions, Cullen nodded and looked out the main gate. There was no sign of Vivienne and Aveline yet, though it was still too dark to make out much past the main gate and the noise from the courtyard prevented him from hearing their approach. “Are we taking her to the infirmary?” Cullen asked.

“I believe that would be best, at least for tonight,” Cassandra nodded and handed over the reins to Dennet. Dennet rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he checked the horse over before taking her back to the stables. “Are you going to wait here?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes,” Cullen snapped and crossed his arms, partially to fend off the chill that was beginning to set in.

“I will ask Solas to lend a hand to the healers,” Cassandra said and placed a hand over Cullen’s shoulder briefly. The touch was gentle, caring, and warm, yet Cullen failed to fully appreciate the intended effect.

The courtyard had quieted down and the infirmary was abuzz with light and movements by the time Cullen finally spotted the blurred silhouette in the distance. He could make out the vague outline of the ridiculous hat Vivienne always wore, and then he saw Aveline (or the top of Avelin’s head at least), slumped forward and swaying slightly. One of Vivienne’s arms was wrapped around her torso, and Cullen reassured himself that Vivienne wouldn’t have been strong enough to keep Aveline from falling off the horse if she had passed out completely.

“Infirmary,” Cullen told Vivienne as soon as she was within earshot. Vivienne had never looked this disheveled, and he hated himself for noticing the deep concern in her eyes. Vivienne never worried about anything, or refused to let others read it on her face if she had.

_Maker, how badly was she hurt_?

But Cullen hated himself even more for not being brave enough to look at Aveline.

He had always feared something like this would happen one day, that she would be gravely injured—or killed, even (May the Maker strike him down for even _thinking_ that!)—somewhere far away from Skyhold, out of his reach. Cullen clenched his jaw and willed his mind to not tread down that dreadful yet familiar path as he helped Aveline off the horse by the entrance to the infirmary. Aveline mumbled something incoherent as Cullen carried her inside, but nothing mattered more to him than the knowledge that she was strong enough to lift her arms and wrap them around his neck.

Several healers gathered around the cot closest to the freshly stoked fire ready with clean linen, hot water, poultices, and herbs. All their eyes were on Aveline as Cullen carefully lowered her onto the cot, and he was promptly shoved aside as the healers began examining her. Vivienne stood among the healers and seemed to be explaining something, but her voice was too low for Cullen to make out over all of the commotion and chatter.

“I understand your concern, but I believe it would be best to give the healers some room to work,” Solas said to Cullen as he walked into the crowded infirmary. “I will inform you as soon as we ascertain the Inquisitor’s condition,” Solas assured Cullen then joined the healers.

“We’ll be outside,” Cassandra replied in Cullen’s stead then tilted her head, signaling Cullen to follow her out.

“Where is Varric?” Cullen asked as he exited the infirmary, avoiding the questions that could lead to answers he was no longer eager to hear.

“He stayed behind,” Cassandra shrugged.

“That storyteller may claim he is many things, but a proficient rider he is not,” Vivienne added as she joined them outside. Cullen would have had a good chuckle at the crafty Dwarf’s expense on any other occasion, but all he managed was an unsteady nod.

“You two must be exhausted,” Cullen muttered just to keep from imagining the worst.

“She is in good hands, Cullen,” Cassandra said and forced a smile on her tired-looking face.

Sense of guilt flooded Cullen’s gut at the realization of just how hard Cassandra had been trying to reassure Cullen ever since she arrived, and he nearly choked up as he mumbled his thanks.

“She will survive this,” Vivienne also offered. “She _must_.” Cullen wished he hadn’t heard the subtle quiver in her voice.

Time passed at a snail’s pace as they stood in silence waiting for news on Aveline. Blackwall and the Iron Bull came to check on the situation at one point, but learning there was nothing to be done they left, albeit with obvious reluctance. They yakked loudly about how they should ride out to Emprise du Lion at once and deal with the remaining high dragons themselves. Tactically it made no sense to send two of their best warriors away now, but Cullen wouldn’t have minded if they had actually decided to avenge Aveline by culling every last dragon and dragonling in all of Thedas. He could see at least one of the warriors taking great pleasure while doing it, too.

As the daybreak arrived Vivienne announced she was going to get some rest and Cassandra followed shortly. Cullen was glad of the solitude, though too soon the roosters’ call began to tear through the morning air. He watched the open doorway as the shadows shuffled about inside. They reminded him of the lurking demons at Kinloch, except these healers were no illusion and they were actually helping.

Cullen wasn’t helping anything by standing there, but his legs refused to move. _Turns out a magical prison isn’t the only thing that keeps a man trapped in place filled with anguish and torment_ , he snickered.

It was bright and warm out by the time Solas stepped out with a thin sweat on his brow. _Was Solas sweating because it was warm or because he had to exert himself that much_? Cullen hoped it was the former. “We believe the worst is over,” Solas said. “However, she will require bed rest for at least a few days and must avoid any strenuous work until we determine that she is fully recovered.”

_Maker, the fit Aveline would throw when she hears that news_ , Cullen mused and allowed himself a small smile.

“May I see her?” Cullen asked.

“You may wish to wait a few hours,” Solas replied after a pause. Despite the words Solas used, Cullen did not hear Solas offer any choice in the matter, and he was not about to protest. In fact, he was somewhat relieved that Solas suggested he wait. He was not even half certain he wanted to see Aveline in the current state, whatever that looked like. “She has just fallen asleep. Come back after breakfast,” Solas said then promptly disappeared back into the infirmary. _Solas has to keep watch over her as she slept, just as he did after the explosion at the Conclave_ , Cullen realized and swallowed the knot in his parched throat.

Cullen took a moment to collect himself before heading back to the office, which suddenly felt twice as disorderly as usual. He kept himself busy going through the paperwork and sorting them into neat piles. When he ran out of papers to fuss over, his eyes wandered over to the drawer where he used to keep his lyrium kit. He had never used lyrium as an emotional crutch, and he was not about to start. Faith was what kept him going all these years: Faith in the Maker and Andraste, if not the Chantry; faith in the one woman who wielded the power to save the world, a woman whose strength lit a clear path in front of him. And that bright light had not been extinguished. Not yet.

He had no easy access to lyrium anyway, he reminded himself, and surprisingly, he felt no ill effects of withdrawal despite the current circumstance.

“She will survive this,” Cullen said out loud.

_And so will I_ , he vowed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes they find the way out of the darkness, sometimes they don't...but the journey is always easier with a friend or two.

Sometimes it was hard to tell if people were breathing in their sleep, especially in the dark. But he didn’t want to wake her; it wasn’t time for that yet.

Samson gingerly planted the palm of his hand between her long, slender neck and a pair of prominent shoulder blades. He felt her back gently push back with each deep inhale.

_Good_.

Letting out his breath, he moved his hand upward to the side of her neck. Slow, steady pulse greeted his fingertips, but he lingered for a minute just to make sure there was no skipping or fluttering.

_Very good_.

Thick drapery covered all the windows, letting complete darkness take over the Inquisitor’s spacious private quarters. The only thing Samson could make out was the back of the Inquisitor’s head silhouetted by the dim glow of her short, silver strands. He couldn’t remember the last time he remained so still and quiet in a place so dark it seemed to have been dipped in ink, unless he counted all the sleepless nights he’d spent inside his own head.

But his mind didn’t go there anymore. He counted his blessings: Dagna and her experiments for creating an excuse for the Inquisitor to spare his life, Cullen for treating him like a colleague and a friend just as he used to back in the day, Sister what’s-her-name for having gotten him through the worst of it (who _still_ refused to tell him her name, saying she was merely the Maker’s messenger and her identify was of no importance), and the Inquisitor. Aveline, she insisted on his calling her.

Boredom and a sore ass were a small price to pay for everything Aveline had done to give him the kind of peace and quiet he’d never known his entire life. He didn’t even know that he’d enjoy the calm this much. Maybe he was just getting old.

“What are you doing here?” Cullen whispered, breaking Samson’s meditative state just as the morning rays began to muscle their way through the drapery.

“They assigned me the night watch duty,” Samson explained and gestured for Cullen to sit beside him on the sofa that had been pulled right up to the side of the Inquisitor’s bed.

“They asked _you_?” Cullen frowned but took a seat beside Samson anyway.

“I don’t sleep much during the night anymore,” Samson shrugged. “They needed someone to check her vitals every hour, so I volunteered.”

“You aren’t sleeping well?” Cullen’s frown deepened. Samson could have hugged him for that, but he didn’t feel like getting punched in the face.

“Back when I was on red lyrium, I found it soothing to sleep during the day because I’d see red with the sun shining through my eyelids. The habit stayed, I suppose.” Cullen stared at Samson’s face for a moment then nodded.

“I am somewhat surprised that they trusted you to keep watch over her,” Cullen admitted.

“Think, Commander, who’d be neck deep in Druffalo shit if anything happens to the Inquisitor?” Samson chuckled.

“Good point,” Cullen agreed.

“She’s vulnerable like she’s never been before. If this shit gets known, you can bet your hairless ass there will be assassination attempts. But they’ll have to get through me to get to her,” Samson pointed at the sleeping Inquisitor and then his sword. “As it happens, I’m also highly expendable.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Cullen agreed with an exaggerated nod. “If it makes you feel any better, I promise I’ll attend your funeral.” A split second later Cullen’s face turned ashen. Samson could see the weight of dread yanking at the corners of his mouth.

“She’s gonna be fine, Cullen,” Samson promised. “Her pupils look good, her pulse is strong and steady, no more fever or chills or shaking and all that, and she’s been keeping stuff down.”

“Am I _that_ easy to read?” Cullen groaned then looked down at his feet.

“Cullen, now, listen to me,” Samson placed a hand over Cullen’s sulking shoulder and began in a somber tone. Cullen lifted his gaze to meet Samson’s. “Did you really think the reason you ended up butt naked at a game of Wicked Grace was bad luck?”

Cullen snorted and slapped Samson’s hand off his shoulder. “Who told you about that?” Cullen shook his head as if in defeat, though color had returned to his cheeks. “Never mind, don’t tell me. Varric.”

“As I’ve said before, I have sources,” Samson shrugged and turned his attention back to the Inquisitor. “Ah, sorry, did we wake ya?”

The Inquisitor blinked her eyes open and smiled at the two of them. “Two beautiful songbirds at my bedside,” she chuckled. “What a pleasant way to wake up.”

Her speech wasn’t slurred at all. _Good sign_ , Samson nodded to himself. He smiled back, checked the Inquisitor’s pulse, and stood up. “I’ll let the cook know you are up. With any luck, no more of that stinky mud soup shit.”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” The Inquisitor yawned and wiggled out of the duvet. Cullen helped her sit up, stuffing a couple of fancy sham pillows between her and the equally fancy headboard.

“We can always hope,” Samson said as he skipped down the stairs out of the Inquisitor’s quarter.

_Because there’s always hope, isn’t there_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone actually read this chapter or any other, thank you so much.


End file.
